Once A Thief
by dendriticgold
Summary: Thomas invites Jimmy up to his room for a bottle of wine, unexpected angst ensues when Jimmy goes looking for the cork screw and instead finds something else.


**Once a Thief**

When they were finally dismissed that evening Thomas couldn't help himself chancing inviting Jimmy to his room to share a semi-illicit bottle of wine ('borrowed' from the just-in-case part of the cellar, rather than Carson's premium stock) because, frankly, all those glances they shared over the dinner table that night had said more than they needed to.

Then again, Thomas had been wrong before.

Repeatedly, in fact, over the previous six months or so.

There was the secret smile over the tea service one day that had prompted him to linger far longer than usual in the servant's hall that night in the hopes of catching Jimmy alone, but Jimmy had remained locked in a heated game of cards with Alfred and the Hall Boys until Carson had ordered them all to bed. Some weeks later there had been the brush of hands while collecting trays in the kitchen that had led him to suggest the two of them partner up for the walk into Ripon to run their errands that afternoon, where nothing, save the planned errands, and an extended discussion about boot polish and the weather had resulted. Almost a full month after that a few brief words of warm encouragement from Jimmy after a particularly uncalled for chewing down by Carson had Thomas offering to assist Jimmy with the silver polishing in place of Alfred, sitting along with him for several hours, during which absolutely nothing further of consequence (in the way Thomas had hoped) had arisen during the few words they shared over the task.

The list went on. And always the same.

Thomas's mind, it seemed, was intent upon soaring in optimism at every barely perceptible suggestion that Jimmy's regard for him may run beyond friendship. But each and every time he tried to create an environment favorable to verifying that, to give Jimmy the opportunity to confess or show his feelings beyond reasonable doubt, he found his efforts futile and frustrated and was left with the uncomfortable likelihood that he had misread him; that the 'signs' he read so carefully, more carefully than ever now given what had gone before, were those of friendship and nothing more.

But he hoped. And he hated himself for it sometimes. Hated that his irrepressible attraction was tainting his ability to enjoy the company of perhaps the first true friend he had ever had. And he frequently resolved to dispense with his forlorn hopes of anything more.

But then there would be another moment, another hint, and Thomas would allow himself to hope again.

The way Jimmy had glanced at him over dinner that evening…even when he wasn't speaking directly to him, even when he wasn't looking directly at him. Those looks…Out of nowhere, those looks.

'Don't suppose you'd fancy joining me after lights out for a little drink?' Thomas said in a low voice (conscious of Carson hovering just outside the servant's hall).

Jimmy turned to him with a frown. 'What? Walk all the way to the pub at gone midnight? When we've got a full day's work tomorrow?' He said, staring at Thomas with an expression that highly suggested he thought the Under Butler had gone daft.

Thomas leaned as close as he dared. 'I've a bottle in my cupboard.' He said, as quietly as he could. 'I quite fancy a bit this evening after the day I've had… and I wondered if you might like some too?'

'A bottle of what?' Jimmy whispered back with a small grin, inclining his head towards Thomas to hide his expression from the others as they filed out of the hall.

'You'll just have to come up and see, won't you.' Thomas teased.

Jimmy's grin faltered for a moment, leaving Thomas to panic that he had been too familiar and too forward in his tone of voice, but it soon returned, accompanied by a firm nod of the head.

Although, Thomas mused a short while later, sitting on the end of his bed in his suit trousers and undershirt (having debated putting his pyjamas on but deciding that might scare Jimmy away), sharing a bottle of wine was the sort of thing friends would do. Not necessarily potential lovers.

He supposed Jimmy wasn't to know, when he agreed to come, the degree to which Thomas fiercely guarded his personal space even from 'friends', and that an invitation into Thomas's room was akin to a direct invitation to his heart.

Thomas sprang a good foot into the air at the sound of a tentative tapping at his bedroom door.

Quickly and quietly he crept over to open it, begging the temperamental hinges to hold off from whining as the door swung open to reveal Jimmy's figure; distinctive even in the darkness of the corridor outside.

'Come on in.' Thomas said softly, motioning him forwards.

He noticed instantly that Jimmy was, like himself, in his undershirt. But below the waist Jimmy had discarded the constricting trousers (and most likely underwear) of his uniform and instead opted for the soft fabric of his striped pyjama bottoms.

'Oh…' Said Jimmy, noticing Thomas's attire as he turned to close the door behind him. '…seems I'm a little under dressed.' He gave an apologetic grimace, dropping his head forwards to indicate his night-wear.

'No. You're perfect.'

Thomas could have kicked himself. In fact, Thomas could have eviscerated himself. That was too much, far far too much, too soon and…

'Thank you.' Jimmy said, raising his head, a small but unmistakable smile (and an endearingly bashful one at that) on his lips.

Thomas blinked. And stared. And couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

Jimmy stayed silent also, looking back at him with the same look in his eyes that Thomas had spied over the dinner table.

Thomas could have sworn his heart stopped.

'So…' Said Jimmy. '…about that drink?'

'Right!' Thomas said, snapping himself out of his stunned reverie. He quickly broke eye contact to make his way over to the cupboard, tugging open the doors and bending to retrieve the bottle of wine stood in the corner behind his perfectly shined shoes. 'Here we are.' He said, brandishing the bottle.

Jimmy's eyes lit up at the sight of the wine. 'Very nice, Mr Barrow.' He said with a sly grin so devilish that Thomas near dropped the bottle in his hand.

'Nothing but the best here, Mr Kent.' Thomas replied in a low and calculatedly suggestive voice, finding his confidence growing (if not his belief) as he dared to allow himself to believe the two of them were moving towards the familiar grounds of flirtation and possible seduction; not that those 'grounds' had been exactly 'familiar' to Thomas for many years, but as he slowly and purposefully advanced back towards Jimmy he found he could recall the game with perfect clarity.

Silence fell between the two of them again as they stood opposite one another, close enough to touch. Each man's eyes searching the others for some kind of irrefutable verification of what they both hoped the other had recognised.

But neither spoke.

'There's…um…a corkscrew in the top drawer.' Said Thomas eventually, his mouth painfully dry all of a sudden, deciding that a few good swigs of red would likely help the situation on immeasurably.

Jimmy nodded, maintaining eye contact for a moment longer, biting his lower lip in both nervousness and anticipation before turning away to locate the corkscrew as directed.

Thomas smiled to himself as he watched Jimmy open up the top drawer which contained, in addition to the corkscrew and a few other trinkets, his underwear and socks. He found himself rather liking the idea of Jimmy going through his underwear.

It seemed Jimmy was not adverse to the idea either, craning his head back to give Thomas a brief cheeky grin before returning to his task.

He pushed things around in the drawer for a short while, Thomas chuckling a little behind him.

Then Jimmy stopped.

Thomas kept watching him, still smiling.

There was a soft scratching noise as Jimmy pulled something along the bottom of the drawer towards himself.

'Find it?' Said Thomas, his smile fading a little in confusion as Jimmy silently leant forwards, peering at something. His eyes traced the line of Jimmy's shoulders, which had hunched forwards, his whole body seeming to shrink a little along with them.

The only answer was a sharp exhalation from Jimmy's lips.

'Jimmy?' Said Thomas, bottle still in hand, beginning to walk up behind him.

Before he could reach Jimmy's back, Jimmy spun around.

'What the hell is this?' Said Jimmy, holding out a small item in his upturned palm.

Thomas glanced down. 'Well…that there's a snuff box.' He said, taking in the sight of the small silver oval with an embossed lid, bringing his eyes up to Jimmy's quizzically.

'Where did you get it?' Jimmy demanded sharply.

Thomas frowned, confused. 'I got it in France.' He said, eyeing Jimmy's expression and noting in surprise that Jimmy had actually started shaking. 'It's something of a souvenir of the war, you might say. Why do you…?'

'This was my fathers.' Said Jimmy.

'It…?' Thomas began, halting immediately as the muscles in his stomach gave a nasty lurch. A mire of blood, mud and bodies suddenly swam before his eyes as the image of his left hand (still intact) darting into the pocket of a lifeless soldier forced itself from the depths of his memory. 'It can't be, otherwise why would I have it?' Said Thomas, willing his lips into a reassuring smile.

'Thomas, where did you get this?' Said Jimmy.

Thomas's panic rose at the ease with which Jimmy dismissed his words. He watched, his fingers clenching tighter at the neck of the wine bottle, as Jimmy quickly opened the snuff box. Jimmy grunted in displeasure to find it filled with small mints and abruptly tipped them out onto the floor.

'Jimmy…' Said Thomas, trying his best to keep his alarm from showing in his voice. '…why do you think that's your dad's?'

Jimmy's head snapped back up from it's inspection of the snuff box to glare at him. 'Because here, Thomas!' He said. 'See that?' Jimmy held the snuff box up in front of Thomas's nose and tapped at a dent in the base. 'That's where I dropped it when I was five!'

Thomas took a step back, he couldn't help it, the sudden darkness in Jimmy's eyes was terrifying.

'Where…' Jimmy demanded again. '…did you get this?'

'Well, you know I was a medic…' Thomas began in a small voice, all ready to add a story about how a kindly soldier had bequeathed him his prized possession in gratitude for the treatment he had received. But somehow, looking directly into Jimmy's pained expression, Thomas found he just couldn't tell it.

'A medic?' Said Jimmy. 'Tell me how a medic came by my father's snuff box during the war, Thomas?' He practically spat the last word.

Thomas felt suddenly very close to tears. There was no need to explain the particulars; the look on Jimmy's face showed he already knew the answer. 'He was dead…' Said Thomas weakly by way of justification.

'You stole this off my father's body?' Said Jimmy, his anger faltering as his eyes became as wet as Thomas's, looking pleadingly at Thomas as though begging him to provide some other explanation.

Thomas's face crumpled. He could have explained to Jimmy why he had taken it. Could have told him also of the pain he had felt upon first seeing it. Dirty and dented it may have been, but it had still put him in mind of Downton, of the shining and well cared for boxes in Lord Grantham's dressing room, of another life he had lived before the horror of war. A life he desperately missed in those dark days. And how having that small snuff box in his pocket to feel had soothed him as he sat up into the night waiting to be called out to the wounded.

But he found he couldn't say anything.

'You BASTARD!' Jimmy screamed at him.

Almost instantly there were footsteps in the corridor outside.

Thomas was too shell shocked to even think of concealing the wine as Carson swung open the doorway.

'What…what is the meaning of this?' Carson choked out, his eyes darting from Thomas to Jimmy, taking in the tears of the former and the partially dressed state of the latter, and the wine.

'Ask the THIEF!' Jimmy hissed, more at Thomas than at Carson and stormed out, clutching the snuff box to his chest.

In his shock, Carson let him pass without comment.

'Mr Barrow?' Said Carson brusquely when it became apparent Thomas was not going to offer an explanation of his own accord.

Thomas couldn't think of anything to say.

Months of hard work to gain the confidence and trust of the household since his elevation to Under Butler lost in a matter of minutes.

The damage to his relationship to Jimmy, total and crushing.

But the thought of telling Carson the cause of Jimmy's distress, of admitting to what he had done during the war, besmirching the one thing he had ever done that made him 'good' in the eyes of the household, that thought destroyed him.


End file.
